


Exiting Empires

by Mugatu



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: F/F, If You Squint - Freeform, Illustrations, M/M, POV Multiple, once again i have planned a short fic, some vague pre book of nile, that is turning into a monster, yet another daemon AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-09
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 01:22:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28645188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mugatu/pseuds/Mugatu
Summary: She was starting to feel almost normal when Hap cautiously whispered, “Nile. Did…did you dream?”“Yes,” she said, feeling a chill, “Four people in a boxcar. Three men and one woman; I just saw their faces and not their daemons.” She chose not to think about that cold, dark place. It was hardly an earth shattering dream. If she were speaking to anyone but her daemon she would have tried to dismiss it.Hap let out a strained laugh, “I dreamed too. About four daemons whose humans I couldn’t see…”
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia & Nile Freeman, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, Nile Freeman & Nicky | Nicolo di Genoa, Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 29
Kudos: 113





	1. Nile & Hap

Looking back, Nile found she couldn’t remember the exact details of the _incident_. Just a jumble of moments that surfaced occasionally in her sea of confusion and fear.

_“There are no men here,” said the older woman in hijab, even as her mongoose daemon glared at a specific door covered by a colorful rug, “To use women and children as shields is to not be a man at all.”_

_Dizzy and Jay at her side as she broke through the door. Nile went through first, saw the figure with the gun, fired her own weapon before she realized what she was doing._

_Nile acting like a total boot and getting down next to the man she’d just shot without checking him for weapons first. She told herself it was because they needed the guy alive. She’d never shot anyone before, not up close where she was sure they’d been hit. Hap was gently trying to nudge the injured man’s camel spider daemon closer._

_The sharp bite of a knife, and the spray of blood before her eyes. Hap screamed and automatically slashed at the camel spider daemon, even as she faded into Dust._

_Dizzy frantically pressing her hands against Nile’s throat while her raccoon daemon tried to drag Hap closer. It didn’t work, Mac was half the caracal daemon’s size. One of Nile’s hands reached out blindly for Hap, she couldn’t find him and she didn’t want to die alone._

Don’t go before me _, Nile thought,_ Please Hap, please don’t go first _—_

Then Nile was looking at an exhausted man she’d never seen before in her entire life. White guy, early forties (or a very rough thirties). Despite his lank, sandy hair and scruffy face Nile would’ve called him handsome were it not for his expression of sorrow. He was propped against stacked cargo pallets, and Nile realized she could feel the gentle sway of a train. He unscrewed the cap off a silver flask and took a swig.

 _Where is his daemon, I can’t see her—_ Nile thought before she found herself looking at two more men she’d never seen before in her life. They were curled up together on a bare floor and sleeping fitfully. The guy acting as the big spoon had his face pressed in his companion’s nape, all Nile could really make out was a mop of textured black curls and light brown skin. Little spoon was another white guy, clean-shaven with a distinct beauty mark.

She couldn’t see their daemons either, Nile realized, although she though caught a glimpse of a massive black shape pressed against Big Spoon’s legs. Before Nile could make out details the view shifted yet again.

Nile saw a woman. She was beautiful, with sculpted cheekbones and large green eyes. There was something ageless about her; Nile thought she could put her anywhere between her thirties to early fifties. The latter was mostly due to her eyes. They seemed impossibly old and impossibly tired. Right before things shifted a final time it seemed like the woman was looking directly at Nile, like she could see her bleeding to death in the dirt.

Then she was somewhere else. Somewhere cold and black. This last vision was the shortest and most indistinct, but still so horrible it propelled her into wakefulness.

For a second everything around her looked completely alien and beyond her comprehension. She had no idea where she was or even who she was, why she was here instead of the boxcar, or bleeding to death, or trapped in some cold dark place.

Then Hap pressed against her as tightly as he could and gasped, “I’m here. We’re okay, I’m here.”

Things came into focus as she sank her fingers into Hap’s fur. She was in a hospital bed at the medical tent. She raised a hand to her throat at the same time Hap pressed a tentative paw to the same place. She had no idea how long she’d been unconscious, or how many painkillers were being pumped into her system. She _did_ know that her wound should still be tender and sore beneath her fingertips.

“Hap,” Nile said, voice shaking, “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know,” Hap replied. His voice was steady but his gold-green eyes were wide with fear, pupils dilated to the size of nickels. He tucked his face underneath her chin and started rubbing it against her like an overgrown house cat. “I never want whatever the fuck that was to happen again.”

They stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other. Hap began purring his raspy purr, and Nile felt herself relax slowly. She was starting to feel almost normal when Hap cautiously whispered, “Nile. Did…did you dream?”

“Yes,” she said, feeling a chill, “Four people in a boxcar. Three men and one woman; I just saw their faces and not their daemons.” She chose not to think about that cold, dark place. It was hardly an earth shattering dream. If she were speaking to anyone but her daemon she would have tried to dismiss it.

Hap let out a strained laugh, “I dreamed too. About four daemons whose humans I couldn’t see…”

*******************************************

Things got weird after that.

Their first taste of things to come was when a nurse visited to change the bandages on Nile’s throat. Nile watched the color drain from his face as he found nothing but smooth, unblemished skin. His thrush daemon was inspecting Hap, and when she felt her human’s fear she recoiled, wings fluttering rapidly.

They got more of the same when they gave their after action interview, the brass asking her questions and looking unhappy at her answers. No, she didn’t remember if the attacker used a special type of knife. She didn’t remember _most_ of what happened. Their daemons looked at Hap with naked suspicion, none getting any closer to him than necessary.

Nile thought she could’ve taken all of that were it not for the reactions of Dizzy and Jay.

Nile was hunched over on the very unnecessary hospital bed, fingers wrapped around the little gold cross her mom gave her when she graduated high school. Hap was pressed against her, rubbing his face against her shoulder. Suddenly he stiffened, ears twitching and all the fur on his back standing up. When she looked at him his ears flattened and he hissed, “Dizzy and Jay are coming.”

She wasn’t sure why the arrival of their friends should make him react that way. Or why it caused her own heart to race and fear to spike. Not until neither one hugged her, or even gave her a friendly shoulder punch. Not until she saw how Dizzy stared at the space on her neck where the scar should be. Not until Mac refused to leave her shoulders to greet Hap. Jay’s spider monkey daemon wasn’t quite as cold, just gave Hap’s head an obligatory pat before scurrying back to his own human. Hap himself was uncustomary silent, eyeing Mac and Tolte challengingly.

“I heard them talking outside the tent,” Hap explained when they left. People always underestimated his hearing. “Dizzy was telling Jay and Tolte that…that you _died._ And Mac, he said…” Hap’s voice trailed off into a hiss, ears flat. “He said I vanished into Dust.”

“That’s impossible,” she said immediately. Even as she spoke she found herself inspecting him, as if to reassure herself he was really there. An absurd reaction; he was still there in the same beautiful caracal form he had been for the past fourteen years. Same sandy red fur, black tufted ears, same regal features. She pushed the pads of his feet to watch his claws extend. _Toe beans,_ she thought, a little hysterical. He was still there, still her Hap.

More importantly than his physical reality was the fact that she could still feel him. They were still _whole._ Their connection twinged at that spot beneath her breast bone, she could still catch his moods. Including a flash of irritation at her skepticism.

“Why would Mac say that,” Nile asked.

“I don’t know,” Hap replied, “It explains why everyone has been looking at us like we’re a soulless abomination, at least.”

“I guess so,” Nile said. The plots of dozens cheesy horror and sci-fi films flashed through her mind. People selling their daemons to Satan in exchange for power. Aliens from other worlds without real daemons of their own infiltrating humanity. Mad scientists stealing daemons away from children. The last had _some_ horrible historical basis; although the Nazi daemon experiments were exercises in cruelty more than anything else. They’d never actually _succeeded_ in forcibly separating a human from a daemon without the subjects dying from shock shortly after.

When Nile was a child her Grann used to tell stories about _mambos_ back in Haiti who could cast a spell that would allow their daemon to move apart from them. And, because her Grann had a very loose definition of “child friendly” she also told Nile tales of the creation of _zombis._ According to Grann a _bokor_ —a wicked sorcerer—could enslave a daemon, making it appear as though the victim had died, then dig up the human after burial. In those stories the daemon would gradually wither away to nothing, until the human, so used to being without a daemon, didn’t notice and continued moving around until its flesh rotted away.

“Those were just stories,” Hap said, sensing her thoughts. “Myths or exaggerations, no documented _evidence._ ”

“Yeah,” she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. Shit was weird, but she wasn’t a zombi or any other soulless abomination.

*******************************************

Internet connectivity on base followed a corollary of Murphy’s Law—the more desperately you wanted to look something up, the more likely it was to crap out. At least Nile had thought to download the basic offline version of EveryDaemon to her phone before shipping out. It was still frustrating, the skeleton version of the app lacked detailed descriptions and daemological profiles. But it was something to do when they couldn’t sleep the night after they were released from medical. Something to keep her mind off the whispers and stares from her fellow marines and their daemons.

She and Hap tucked themselves under the blanket after lights out and began searching. Hap said he saw four daemons—three female and one male, which matched up with the people in Nile’s dream.The three females were in the same boxcar as the humans. One was in the shape of—in Hap’s own words— “a spotted cat weasel thing”. She was curled up alone on top of a pile of stacked pallets, eyes wide and glittering in the dim light.

The next daemon was a _massive_ black dog. One of the biggest Hap had ever seen; comparable to a great dane or mastiff. She was curled up in a ball, and tucked in the circle made by her body was an eagle with black feathers and a bright red face. Hap thought he caught a glimpse of a human next to them but didn’t get a clear look.

The last—and only male—daemon disturbed Hap in a way the others hadn’t. They had been in a place where it was conceivable for their humans to be close by. The vulture daemon wasn’t, unless his human was skydiving. He was soaring miles in the air, following a distant train as it snaked through the desert.

She didn’t have to search EveryDaemon for very long. She typed in Hap’s exact words of “spotted cat weasel” and the very first entry was the common genet. A viverrid indigenous to Africa, but introduced to parts of southwestern Europe in the middle ages. The photos of it were stupidly cute—its small, pointed muzzle paired with large eyes and even larger ears gave it a kittenish appearance.

The eagle was just as easy to find, she recognized the species from Hap’s description although she couldn’t remember the exact name. EveryDaemon informed her it was a Bateleur, a colorful member of the “snake eagle” family found in subsaharan Africa and parts of Arabia. The dog, surprisingly, was the hardest of the three to identify. None of the specific breeds or common crosses were an exact match. The closest in looks was a bull lurcher—a mix between a pit bull and a greyhound. Hap just sniffed and said that she was at least twice the size of either.

They gave up on finding the exact breed after several frustrating minutes of searching and another useless attempt at the wifi connection before moving on to vultures.

“We’ve seen one before,” Hap murmured as Nile scrolled through the list of species, “Do you remember, at the Field Museum?”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much, Hap,” Nile replied, earning a playful swat.They visited the Field Museum and its hall of birds dozens of times growing up; both on school trips and family outings. Nile remembered her father’s hand in hers as she studied the hundreds of taxidermied species, Hap trying on as many different bird forms as he could.

“It was the one that looked like a dragon,” Hap continued, pulling her away from her memories, “There! That one!” He batted his paw at her screen of her phone. Nile studied the photo he indicated. It showed a large bird with cream-colored plumage and charcoal grey wings. Unlike most other vulture species it didn’t have a bare head, feathers stood out in a jagged ruff down its neck. There was a slanted black band over the eyes and black bristles on the chin, giving it a sinister expression. Hap was right, it _did_ look like a dragon. _The lammergeier(“lamb vulture”), also known as the bearded vulture or ossifrage (“bone crusher”)._

Their triumph at identifying the four daemons vanished slowly. She wasn’t sure what they were expecting, or why they were so hung up on these dreams at all. Four people they’d never seen before on a train. It didn’t explain her wound that healed overnight, it didn’t explain why Dizzy and Mac claimed that it wasn’t just a wound, that they’d _died._ She hit the sleep button on her phone, casting their little cocoon into darkness. Beside her Hap was quiet, thoughts running along the same lines as hers.

*********************************************

They dreamed again that night.

A flash of the scruffy guy hunched over a laptop and staring blankly at the screen. He was jarringly alone, Nile got a good enough look to be struck by the lack of a daemon. He closed the laptop and buried his face in his hands, broad shoulders tense. When he raised his head his eyes were wet and red.

The view shifted. She saw one half of the couple she dreamed of earlier. Little Spoon was leaning out a window and peering through the scope of a sniper rifle. On his shoulder perched the Bateleur daemon, staring out in the same direction. She was even more beautiful than the photos on EveryDaemon. The feathers on her body were mostly black, but there was a splash of chestnut brown on her back and her wings were a dozen different shades of grey. Little Spoon reached up absently and buried his fingers into her feathers of her neck. The eagle responded by puffing said feathers out so she looked twice her size, and her face turned an even brighter shade of red. Little Spoon’s lips quirked into a faint smile as the eagle gave his ear a reproachful nip.

Another shift. Nile saw the second half of the couple. Big Spoon was very handsome, with a short black beard and large dark eyes under expressive eyebrows. He was unloading a basket of produce onto a conveyor belt and smiling warmly at what Nile assumed was a cashier. The dog daemon stood at his feet, and Hap wasn’t fucking kidding when he said she was big. Her shoulder almost reached Big Spoon’s hip, and she could look over the conveyor belt without tilting her head.

Finally she saw the woman striding imperiously through a desert landscape not unlike the one surrounding base. She was dressed in all black, her only concession to the punishing heat a pair of sunglasses over her piercing eyes. The lammergeier was nowhere to be seen. Instead she wore a protective metal case for insect daemons around her neck, a stylized scorpion etched front.

“There wasn’t a scorpion,” Hap said when she told him about the dream the next morning. “Just the four I already saw.”

According to Hap the genet was alone as before, crouched in the branch of a tree several meters off the ground. The lammergeier was also alone, several _miles_ instead of meters above ground.

“Did you see a desert?”

“No. It was over a city, and what land I could see was green.”

Also, when Hap dreamed of the Bateleur she was perched on the shoulder of Big Spoon, preening at his curls while he paged through a sketchbook. The dog was at a kitchen stove leaning against Little Spoon’s legs; the human holding out various ingredients for her to sniff before tossing them into a cast iron pot.

Mundane dreams, even factoring in missing daemons or people swapping daemons like a favorite shirt. They had bigger things to worry about.

*********************************************

She spent the next day working out to the point of exhaustion. Physical exertion was the only way to quiet her mind, and even that had its limits. She usually had no trouble finding someone to spot her at a weight bench or a daemon willing to wrestle playfully with Hap while she worked out. But now people pretended to use different stations when she showed up or just left, whispering to their daemons and staring at Nile openly.

Sergeant Colbert approached her during one of those sessions and informed her they were being sent to Landstuhl for more tests.

“But I’m _fine,_ ” Nile argued, forgetting herself.

“Plane’s fueling. Pack your bags,” Colbert said stiffly, as though Nile hadn’t spoken at all. He reached into his pocket and just as stiffly handed her a set of dog tags. “We took these off you when it happened. We didn’t think you were coming back.”

That was all he had to say to her. Alexandra, Colbert’s honest-to-god bald eagle daemon, stared suspiciously at Hap with her lurid yellow eyes as they walked away.

Nile blinked, her eyes hot. Hap’s short, stubby tail was lashing back and forth with anger. She envied his reaction. You couldn’t survive the marines—everything from training to combat—without developing a thick skin. That went at least double if you were a woman, and a Black woman on top of that. Nile had been forced to eat a lot of shit ever since climbing aboard the bus to Parris Island, but this was the first time she thought she might cry just because of something that was said. Hap put a paw on her boot to steady her. She let out a shaky breath and smiled down at him.

 _Fuck them both,_ he thought at her so hard she picked up the exact words rather than a general impression of emotion. Her smile turned more genuine, and she was able to force herself to walk to the barracks. Her stomach turned over with anxiety as she wondered if anyone would say goodbye to her, tried to tell herself that Dizzy and Jay at least would. No matter how cold they’d been to Nile and Hap they were a _team._

The barracks fell silent when Nile and Hap walked in. Low whispering started when Nile reached her bunk and found her bags on top, already packed.

The last time Nile cried in public was at her father’s funeral. She sure as fuck wasn’t going to cry now. Especially with the rest of the squad looking at them like _that;_ even Dizzy and Mac along with Jay and Tolte. They hadn’t packed the photo Nile kept of all of them together right before they were deployed. A week ago Nile would’ve called them family, would’ve said she could’ve trusted them to have her back through anything. She would’ve _died_ for them.

She snatched her phone from her bag and walked away, head high. Hap stalked at her feet, ears up and moving with that studied indifference cats excelled at. He maintained that gait as they moved through camp, even as they both caught odd whispers from complete fucking strangers.

_That’s her._

_Her daemon vanished._

They were able to find a spot by the motor pool where Nile could sit and be alone. Hap didn’t say anything, just climbed into her lap and started rubbing his face over neck and jaw, purring. She grabbed her phone and put in her earbuds; some Frank Ocean sounded like the right thing for this moment.

She leaned back as the music washed over her, wrapping her arms around Hap. _Fuck them all,_ she thought. She tried to make herself feel it as well, feel anger and indifference rather than hurt and betrayal.

She was only halfway through “Godspeed” and just starting to feel centered when Hap stiffened in her lap. She opened her eyes and saw Garcia and Harper approaching her.

Her stomach knotted. The hands of the men were within easy reach of their sidearms, and they looked for all the world like they were about to take her to Leavenworth instead of Landstuhl. Their daemons—a Malinois and a honey badger—were some of the only ones on base big enough to subdue an angry caracal.

Hap obviously noted the last fact. He went even tenser in her lap, eyes locked on the honey badger, identifying her already as the more dangerous of the two.

“Corporal Freeman,” Harper said, “We’ve been looking for you. Wheels up on your ride—”

Everything after that happened very fast.

Before Harper finished speaking a woman dressed in civvies popped out of nowhere, like a flash of lightning in a clear blue sky. She went for Harper first, so fast his Malinois had no time to react before her human was knocked unconscious. She keeled over herself with a yelp a split second later.

The woman was already moving, dodging Garcia’s snarling honey badger and grappling with the man himself.

It was pure instinct and training that made Nile go for Harper’s sidearm. She had the gun in her hands and was dropping in a shooting stance before she had a conscious thought to _do_ it. The woman had already dispatched Garcia in the mere seconds it took Nile to grab the weapon. Hap leapt out of the line of fire, hissing ferociously.

The woman was fast, _uncannily_ fast. Before Nile could send the message to _shoot_ her attacker snatched the gun from her hands. Hap snarled, stepping in front of her and hissing, lashing his claws out. It was a bluff; while Hap could overcome his natural revulsion at _touching_ someone he wouldn’t risk it when that person had a gun pointed at Nile’s face.

The woman didn’t flinch, didn’t even glance in Hap’s direction. Just kept her eyes firmly on Nile’s face.

That was when it registered that their attacker was the woman from their dreams. Nile’s eyes dropped to the insect case the woman wore around her neck. At her feet Hap hissed and leapt back, eyes glaring up at the sky, looking for the lammergeier.

“Who are you?” Nile blurted out.

“Andromache the Scythian. But you can call me Andy.”

Nile had a split second wondering just what the fuck she was going to say to _that_ before “Andromache the Scythian” smashed her in the face with the butt of the gun. She heard Hap yowling, then everything went black.

*********************************************

They woke to find themselves bouncing around in the back of a humvee. The woman who’d kidnapped them was driving, Nile could see the back of her head.

Hap growled, too low to be heard over the engine. Nile could feel his desire to lunge at their kidnapper. She put a steadying hand on his back and shook her head. Instead she twisted around and kicked open the back hatch.

Hap jumped into her arms and she curled herself around him protectively before throwing them both out the back.

The hit the ground with a jarring thud. They made themselves relax, roll into the impact. Hap hissed and she felt his claws extend automatically, pressing against her skin but not breaking it.

Amazingly she didn’t break her leg in the fall. Hap was rumpled but unhurt as well. She heard the humvee come to a stop as she got to her feet _._ As she started running she was aware, on some level, that this was a shitty idea. She had no water and no idea where they were. They could die just as easily out here as they could wherever the strange woman from their dreams was taking them.

 _If I am captured I will continue to resist by all means available. I will make every effort to escape and to aid others to escape. I will accept neither parole nor special favors from the enemy,_ she thought to herself.

Hap could run faster than she could. Even going full out he was several meters ahead of her in seconds, near the extent of their range. He turned automatically so she could catch up, eyes wide.

“Nile!” he shouted at the same time she heard a loud _crack_ and everything went an all too familiar shade of black.

She blinked awake. Her head hurt worse than the last time she and Dizzy spent a night out before deployment. The first thing she saw was a neat little pool of blood in the sand. The second was Hap crumpled up next to her chest and struggling to get to his feet. When they scrambled back they saw “Andromache the Scythian” standing a few feet away. She was dressed almost the same as she’d been in their dream—black tank top, black jeans, black leather gauntlets on her wrists. The insect daemon case dangled mockingly around her next to a small silver necklace.

“You _shot_ her!” Hap snarled.

“I did,” she admitted casually, “I need you to get back in the car, please.”

“This isn’t real,” Nile muttered, “None of this is real…”

“Haven’t you figured this out yet?” Andy said, leaning over to pull Nile roughly to her feet, “You can’t _die—“_

Hap snarled and lunged forward like a striking snake, sinking his teeth into the meat of Andy’s shoulder. He let go almost immediately, spitting in disgust. Nile felt like retching herself just catching his revulsion secondhand.

“Ow, _fuck!”_ Andy shouted, glaring down at the twin puncture marks on her shoulder. As Nile watched they slowly closed, leaving unblemished skin and a patch of blood.

Nile did retch then, spitting up a wad of mostly stomach acid. Hap didn’t—daemons lack biological functions so don’t eat or shit or throw up or any of it. She thought she caught a wave of envy from him that she could.

“Who are you?” Nile asked.

“I lead a group of immortals,” Andy replied, “Soldiers. Fighters like you.”

 _Immortals,_ Nile thought. This woman was a fucking lunatic, she had to be—

“Where’s your daemon?” Hap spat out, “Don’t try to pretend that case isn’t empty.”

“I left him with the others,” Andy said, as if that weren’t the most horrifying fucking thing ever.

“Are you…” Nile stuttered, “Are you _severed?”_

Andy looked almost amused, “Do I seem severed? Do _you_?”

“My daemon is right here with _me,”_ Nile said unnecessarily, as said daemon had bitten Andy seconds ago and was snarling loudly at their feet.

“He can move as far away from you as he wants now.”

“Bullshit,” Nile said at the same time Hap hissed loudly.

Andy shrugged, “You’ve got questions, kid. I get it. You want answers, then come with me.” She turned and walked toward the car without a glance back.

Hap watched her, tail twitching in agitation. He looked up at Nile’s face, eyes wide. _Bullshit._ Bullshit. This woman was crazy, they weren’t immortal and they weren’t _separate._

Hap went still. Turned from Nile’s face back to where Andy was climbing back into the jeep. Then he took a step toward it. And another.

Part of their grueling training at boot camp involved testing their range, pushing it to the limit the way the put their bodies and minds to the limit. In combat being able to endure an extra foot or two of distance could mean the difference between life and death. About twelve feet was the most they managed, and it had been _excruciating._ Out of everything they endured during training it was the worst. The pain _started_ at about nine feet, and they felt every fucking inch afterward. It felt like someone had reached down her throat and was yanking her heart out.

Twelve feet was their _limit_. The distance back to the vehicle was more than twice that. Hap was still walking gingerly over the rocks.

Six feet. Eight. Hap paused and turned to look at her, the fur on his short tail fluffed out in alarm. He took another step, and another as they waited for a pain that never came. Fifteen feet, a yard beyond their former maximum range. Twenty. Twenty-five, he was almost to the vehicle. Nile was struck by a sudden horrible thought—Andy could reach out, grab him by the scruff of his neck, and drive off without her. It was a fear without precedent; like worrying about surviving a severed head. She would almost prefer that than to wander the world without Hap.

She was running before she even realized it. Similar thoughts must have occurred to Hap, because he wheeled around and was leaping into her arms seconds later. He was on the larger end of size for a caracal, over thirty-five pounds the last time she weighed him, and the impact of his leap made her stagger and nearly knocked her back to the ground. She stood there a moment with him in her arms, both of them trembling.

_You want answers? Come with me._

Nile got in the car, but she didn’t let go of Hap once.

*********************************************

When they made the decision to go with Andy she believed everything. This madwoman _could_ fake many things as part of some fucked up psy-op—drug them, hypnotize them, _whatever—_ but not the lack of pain induced by separating from her daemon. An hour after they boarded a plane operated by Andy’s shady drug runner friends Nile managed to talk herself out of believing.

In retrospect, waiting for Andy to pass out so Nile could take her weapon and try to highjack the plane wasn’t their best idea. Even if they hadn’t known Andy was crazy enough to shoot the pilot (sorry, _pretend_ to shoot the pilot) then claim she and Nile could just jump out.

Even with Hap’s help the fight lasted less than two minutes. Andy somehow managed to avoid Hap’s claws while still administering a very thorough beatdown. It ended with Andy breaking Nile’s arm and then her leg—the former so badly the bone pierced through the skin. Nile found herself once again crumpled on the ground in agony, wrapped around her daemon. She was getting really fucking sick of it.

Andy crouched down beside them, “You’re very good.” Her voice was friendlier than Nile had heard it yet. “See? You’re healing faster already.”

Nile looked down at her arm. As she watched the jagged end of bone was sliding back into place. She _felt_ the shards fit neatly together as the skin closed over it. In a few seconds there wasn’t even a scar.

“ _Nile,”_ Hap whispered hoarsely.

“This is real,” Nile said. “I…I’ve got a family. People that _love_ me. They’re gonna want to know what happened…”

Andy said nothing, just looked at her with an expression so soft Nile thought she might cry. “I’m a marine,” Nile said, “They think I went AWOL—“

“You’re not a marine anymore,” Andy replied, “They’re going to lock you up. Or worse.”

Nile wanted to argue. Wanted to tell Andy that she didn’t know what she was talking about. But she remembered the look on Dizzy and Jay’s faces when Nile discovered her already packed bag. They were sending her to Landstuhl for more tests, even though she was fine. No, _because_ she was fine.

When Andy offered a hand to help Nile up she took it.

*********************************************

“I thought you said Paris,” Nile said waspishly as they picked their way through the graveyard. She wasn’t expecting to see the Eiffel Tower over the horizon, but _was_ expecting more than a dilapidated church in the middle of nowhere. It had taken them over thirty-six hours to get here from Afghanistan. Nile tried to pay attention to the route, but each stop looked much the same regardless of which country they were illegally passing through. A makeshift airfield in the middle of nowhere, a plane held together by duct tape and prayer, piloted by Andy’s increasingly shady friends.

“This is Goussainville,” Andy replied. “We’re right outside of Paris. This place has been abandoned for over fifty years.”

“Why?”

Before Andy could answer a plane rumbled overhead, flying low enough that Nile’s teeth rattled. Hap flattened his ears unhappily against his skull, glaring up at the sky.

“Come on,” Andy said, “The others are waiting, and if I know Nicky—“ She trailed off, tilting her head toward the church’s steeple. A grin of simple delight spread across her face. Nile had not seen such a purely happy expression from Andy once in the past thirty-six hours. Nile followed her gaze and spotted a figure perched on top of the belfry like a gargoyle. As Nile watched it launched itself off, spreading a pair of massive wings at the same time Andy raised her arm up to the sky.

Lammergeiers, it turned out, were really fucking _big._ His claws and talons completely encircled Andy’s wrist; Nile realized the main purpose of those leather gauntlets. Sergeant Colbert’s bald eagle daemon had a very impressive wingspan of around seven feet, this daemon’s was at least two feet more than that. Nile found herself taking an instinctual step back to avoid touching one outstretched wing. Unlike Alexandra’s sleek feathers his were long and shaggy, making his actual mass hard to determine. Still, even if he were mostly feathers and hollow bones it had to take a hell of a lot of strength to hold him aloft the way Andy was doing without any apparent effort.

Hap took a cautious step forward, his short tail twitching. Nile could feel his emotions—excitement and curiosity mixed with relief. Nile realized that—despite the dreams and Andy’s reassurances—up until this point they weren’t convinced she _had_ a daemon. At least not convinced all the way down to their bones, even if they believed it intellectually.

“Andromache,” the daemon said, folding his great wings against his sides and politely ignoring Nile and Hap’s staring. That was the only word Nile caught, because he immediately began speaking to Andy in a language she couldn’t even begin to guess at. Half the words and the rhythm were vaguely familiar, a linguistic deja-vu, but Nile couldn’t fit it into any category. Andy answered him in the same language, her smile soft and affectionate, then gestured at Nile and Hap.

The daemon turned his attention on them. His gaze was unsettling, eyes a pale gold ringed with a lurid red sclera. Some birds, Nile thought, had evolved specifically to remind humans that they were dinosaurs once.

After a few moments the vulture spread his great wings and hopped down from Andy’s wrist. Hap stalked forward slowly, his stubby tail lashing. On the ground Nile realized they were about the same size in terms of body. The bird daemon allowed Hap to give him a cautious sniff before saying, “I am Oricos. I am glad to see you are well and in two pieces.” His voice was deep yet soft, almost a purr.

“Nice to meet you at last,” Hap said, sounding uncharacteristically shy,“I’m Hapi,” he continued, surprising Nile. He almost never introduced himself by his full name. “Not…not like ‘happy’ as in, y’know, joyful, but—“

“Hapi, the god of the Nile,” Oricos finished. He sounded approving.

“Right,” Hap said, pleased to not have to explain his name, “Hap is fine, though.”

“As you say,” Oricos replied. He turned his attention back to Andy, addressing her in that strange language again.

Hap flattened his ears, “Is he telling you to play dead?”

“‘Play dead’?” Oricos said, eyes flashing at Andy, “Andromache, what have you been doing to these poor children?”

“Hey, _he_ bit _me,”_ Andy protested.

Oricos laughed a strange, barking laugh. His beak naturally stretched the length of his face, giving him a permanent grin and a manic quality to his amusement. “Ah yes, I felt that,” he said, stretching out his right wing, “I’m sure it was well deserved. You must tell me about it later.”

“You mean you don’t…” Hap trailed off, and Nile felt his uncertainty.

Oricos understood what was being asked, “When we’re apart it can be confusing to share specific _details._ I know if she’s in danger, or pain, but it takes a great deal of effort to know more.”

“I…I see,” Hap replied uncertainly, taking a step closer to Nile. Despite his words Hap _didn’t_ understand, and neither did Nile. A daemon was, at its most basic level, an extension of yourself. One being in two bodies. The idea of your other half not experiencing the same event was hard to comprehend. Yet another entry on the long list of weird fucking shit that was their life now.

“He was just telling me that the others are anxious to meet you two,” Andy said, bending down so Oricos could hop back onto her arm. “And that Nicky already has dinner prepared, since he was convinced I was starving you.”

*******************************************

Nile’s introduction to Andy involved kidnapping, getting her brains blown out, and being thrown around like a rag doll in the back of a shady drug runner’s tinfoil airplane. So she walked into the church with her shoulders tense and prepared for anything except for what actually happened.

She’d barely had a chance for basic introductions before Nicky—the guy she’d dubbed “Little Spoon”—started fussing over her. Had she eaten? Did she need to wash up? He prepared dinner. Just pasta; meatless because he hadn’t known whether or not she was a vegetarian.

“So many young people are these days,” he explained in a tone that would fit Nile’s Grann more than a man who looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties.

“I’m a marine,” Nile replied, then winced as she remembered Andy saying that she wasn’t anymore. “We’re not picky.”

“Just so. But I wanted to have something you’d enjoy rather than tolerate. Sit, I will make you a plate.”

A few minutes later she was inhaling her first plate of Nicky’s pasta. His accent was Italian, so she’d been expecting marinara or something similar. Instead the sauce seemed red pepper based and was spicier than anything prepared by a white guy in a decaying church had a right to be. There were chickpeas and _potatoes_ in it of all things. Despite the strangeness it was easily the best meal she’d eaten in months.

She was halfway through her second plate of food before she was able to focus on anything beyond the simple pleasure of refueling her body. To realize that while the three men weren’t staring at her they were doing it in a very deliberate way that revealed just how _badly_ they wanted to.

Booker was the worst offender. He sat immediately to her right, so close she could smell the spirits on his breath. He looked away, embarrassed, whenever she caught him. Joe—aka Big Spoon—just smiled, dark eyes sparkling with warmth. He didn’t fuss quite as much as Nicky but still gave out the energy of an excited old man meeting a new grandchild.

Hap was at her feet pretending he was grooming himself instead of studying the two daemons settled on the other side of the kitchen. Nicky’s dog daemon was posed like a sphinx—forelegs stretched out in front of her, head up and alert. Whenever Salacia caught Hap’s eye her tail would thump against the floor like any real dog excited by a cat. But she maintained a respectful distance; and when she had introduced herself to Hap she’d crouched down to make herself seem smaller. Unnecessary, because Hap had never been intimidated by large daemons. Ineffective, because Salacia could only seem small next to a horse. Or a brontosaurus. Nusaybah, Joe’s Bateleur daemon, was perched on Salacia’s leather harness. She didn’t have a tail to wag but was very expressive all the same. Her feathers went from sleek and flat to fluffed out and unruly, giving her a crest that charmingly echoed Joe’s puff of curls. She also seemed to _blush,_ face going from a pale red that was almost orange to a deep scarlet.

Oricos was with Andy. She ate her first plate apart from the group, sprawled out in a battered easy chair in the next room. Oricos perched on the back, occasionally leaning down to say something quietly to Andy or preen her short hair. In turn Andy would reach up and ruffle the feathers of his neck. _They missed each other,_ Nile thought.

Booker’s daemon wasn’t there. When Andy asked after her Book just shrugged and said, “She was in the cemetery last I checked. I think she’s sleeping, when she wakes up I’m sure she’ll want to meet Nile.”

Nile wondered how restful that could be, to have your daemon sleep while you were awake. She wondered even more how a person could not know where his daemon was, or how he didn’t seem to even care.

“So are you good guys or bad guys?” Nile asked finally. Stupid question, she knew the world was more complicated than that, but she figured she should start with the basics.

“Depends on the century,” Joe said, eyes flicking toward Nicky. Nile got the impression of a detailed, unspoken conversation expressed between the two men in that fraction of a second.

“We fight for what we think is right,” Nicky said.

 _Everyone fights for that. Or thinks they do._ Nile thought that came from Hap.

Andy wandered back in to grab another helping of pasta. Oricos followed at her feet. He walked like a chicken, head bobbing and strutting more than walking as his great wings dragged against the floor. Nile would’ve laughed if her mind wasn’t on other things.

“How are you all in my dreams?” Nile asked.

“We dream of each other,” Joe said, “They stop when we meet. We don’t know why.”

“I believe it’s because we’re meant to find each other,” Nicky interjected. He had another one of those silent conversations with Joe, who actually winked at him. “It’s like destiny.”

“More like misery loves company,” Booker muttered into his wine glass.

“What he said,” Andy added, taking a seat at the table between Nicky and Joe. Oricos did his chicken strut over to Nusaybah and Salacia. The latter snuffled through his feathers while the former simply regarded him with regal splendor from her perch.

Nile could sense Hap’s tension at her feet. At any other meal he’d be mingling with other daemons while Nile talked to their humans. But they were too far away; just because they could magically separate didn’t mean they were _comfortable_ with it.

Before Nile could make herself ask about it Nicky was casually dropping the bomb that Booker was the last immortal they’d found. In 1812.

“No way,” Nile said, staring at the scruffy guy sitting next to her. The guy who was over two hundred years old.

“I died fighting with Napoleon,” Booker sounded embarrassed by this fact.

“So you’re even older,” Nile said in Joe and Nicky’s general direction.

“Nicky and I met during the Crusades,” Joe said, not to be outdone by his husband’s bomb-dropping skills.

“The _Crusades?_ ” she repeated, her jaw literally dropping. Nile tried to remember what she knew about the Crusades, the _real_ stuff, not what she’d seen in movies; she knew there was more than one, but couldn’t remember _when_ they all were. Thirteen hundreds? Earlier? These two men were at least _seven hundred_ years old.

“The love of my life was of the people I’d been taught to hate,” Nicky said, looking at Joe as starry-eyed as a newlywed.

“We killed each other,” Nusaybah said from her place on Salacia’s shoulders. While Oricos’ beak stretched back into a joker’s grin the Bateleur’s was pulled down in a permanent scowl. She managed to convey her amusement regardless; something about the way her dark eyes flashed and feathers fluffed.

“Many times, yes,” Salacia replied happily, twisting her head around to snuffle at Nusaybah affectionately. Her tail went _thump, thump,_ against the ground.

Nile turned her attention to Andy. “You’re the oldest.” Andy nodded. “How old are you?” Nile asked, heart thumping. She remembered something Andy said on the plane, when she’d caught Nile gripping her cross and praying: _I was_ worshipped _as a god once._

“Old,” Andy replied.

“How old?”

“Too old,” she said.

“So we really never die,” Nile murmured. It hadn’t really sunk in.

There was a sudden flap of wings, making Nile start. Oricos had come to rejoin Andy, perching on the back of her chair. Nile, along with the three men, leaned away to avoid touching his wings. He leaned his head down to rest against Andy’s shoulder.

“Nothing that lives lives forever,” Oricos said.

“You said we were immortal,” Nile said.

“I know what I said,” Andy replied, not meeting Nile’s eyes at first. She visibly gathered herself before raising her eyes to Nile’s face, “And we mostly are. But we can die. And one of us did, once. He…”

“He was a warrior, just like us,” Oricos continued, “A very long time ago. One day his wounds stopped closing up, and when he died his daemon vanished for good.”

“Then why did she shoot Nile?” Hap growled, glaring up at Oricos perched high above him, “She could’ve killed her!”

“She’s too new,” Andy said. Nile could tell that Hap wasn’t mollified by this explanation. Neither was she, to be perfectly honest.

Before she could argue Nicky gently spoke, “It is a lot to understand. I think you should get some rest. Come with us.” He nodded at Salacia. As the great black dog got to her feet Nusaybah flew over to return to Joe.

*******************************************

“It’s not much,” Nicky said, and it wasn’t. There was one actual bed shoved against the far wall, only a little bigger than the two camp beds beside it. Nicky pointed to the cot on the end, closest to the door. “That one is yours. Please, rest.”

Nile’s throat tightened with gratitude. She was starting to trust this strange group of people, but she wasn’t quite there yet. She’d feel boxed in if she were in bed or middle cot. Nicky gave one of his soft smiles when he saw her expression. “We’ll be here if you need anything else. Sleep well.”

Salacia didn’t follow him when he left. Nile wondered if she’d ever get used to these people casually leaving their daemons behind.

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave the two of you alone soon enough. I simply wished to speak with you for a moment,” Salacia said, speaking directly to Hap, “Some things are harder to discuss in front of strangers.” She let out an amused, doggie huff, “Or rather, some things are harder to discuss when there are more humans than daemons in the room. I imagine neither Andy nor Oricos bothered to explain these things to you.”

Hap threw a quick glance over his shoulder at Nile. He tried to play it off as a bit of grooming, licking at his shoulder, before moving onto a paw. Salacia humored him with a good-natured patience. “Where do we go?” Hap blurted out mid lick.

“I don’t know. None of us do,” Salacia said. Hap flattened his ears. Like Nile he was sick of that response. If Salacia picked up on his mood she wasn’t offended, “It’s happened to me many times, and I never remember anything beyond a flash of…” she paused, “It is very difficult, to put into words.”

“I know what you mean,” Hap said quickly, and Nile looked at him in surprise. He hadn’t said anything to her about what dying was like for him, beyond the dreams that came after.

“Yes,” Salacia continued, “Perhaps we simply scatter into the universe, to rejoin God for a time. All I do know is when our human dies we vanish. ‘ _De terra facta sunt et in terram pariter revertentur.’”_

 _“_ It was…it was awful,” Hap said, pressing against Nile for reassurance.

“It is. I will not say that you ever get used to it, but it becomes easier to bear with time. For me it’s more distressing to see it happen to Nusaybah, or Oricos, or Noémie, or…” she cut herself off.

Hap’s tail twitched, noticing something hanging in the silence. He chose to ignore it, instead pressing against Nile again and saying, “I won’t ever come back without her, though? She…she won’t ever come back without _me—“_

“We come back together or not at all,” Salacia said firmly, “No matter how far apart we are physically, we wake up beside each other.”

“How can you stand it?” Hap asked. Nile was wondering the same thing. “What if…what if you were far apart for your final death?”

“As I said, you do not get used to it,” Salacia sighed, “For a time after our first death, I was…quite angry…at Nicky. We weren’t speaking to each other unless we had to. Even then I still didn’t like to leave his side for very long, or go any farther than I could see him easily. I _still_ don’t, unless I’m with Nusaybah or Joe. Nusaybah feels the same, although her definition of of being far away from Joe is very different. She can see him clearly from miles away, after all.”

“Oricos doesn’t seem to mind being away from Andy,” Hap said. Nile wasn’t sure she agreed completely with his assessment.

“Oricos and Andy are different,” Salacia replied carefully, “You must understand how very old they are. Andy says she doesn’t really remember much before her first death. For them it is the natural order of things, to be separate.”

“How old do you have to be to stop needing your daemon?” Nile blurted out, her first contribution to this conversation.

“They still _need_ each other, of course they do. Even when they’re separate. But they’ve lost the fear of it, I think.”

“What about Booker, then?” Hap asked, “What’s _his_ deal?”

Salacia took a moment to answer. Her ears and tail drooped slightly and when she spoke, her voice was very delicate. “Booker and Noémie were always this way, even before his first death. He has frequent bouts of melancholia, and she does not care to be around him then. Once they separated she was able to actually do something about it. She’ll be back when he’s feeling more cheerful.”

“Melancholia?” Hap repeated dubiously.

“Yes, we suppose it is a natural consequence of being French,” Salacia said in a light-hearted voice that sounded completely forced. Before Hap _or_ Nile could press her she changed the subject, “I know what you truly fear. Do not.”

Nile looked at Hap, unsure of what exactly the dog daemon was talking about. Hap met her eyes, and Nile understood in a flash.

A daemon was an extension of yourself; the soul made physical. What did it say about her if her soul could leave for _days?_ Would she even be the same person without Hap by her side?

Although they didn’t ask any of these questions aloud Salacia responded, “When Nicky and I were young, the idea of this separation was an abomination. We were almost burned at the stake for it, when we were first discovered. We thought we were cursed for a time, no longer human. But we are, and so are you. It is a blessing to know your soul and mind are strong enough to be separate but still connected.”

“If you say so,” Hap replied dubiously.

Salacia let out another one of those amused, doggie huffs, “It took us quite a long time for it to sink in completely. Nusaybah and Joe helped, they took to it very naturally.” She paused for a moment, studying Hap and Nile, “I’ll leave you both to rest now.”

After Salacia left, Nile stretched out on her cot while Hap draped himself over her like a furry blanket. Despite their exhaustion it took them a while to fall asleep. The planes rattling overhead every every half hour or so didn’t help.

“Are they talking about us?” Nile murmured to Hap quietly. His lip curled in annoyance.

“Probably, but I don’t know for sure. They sound like they’re speaking Arabic.” He was quiet, then, “Can we trust them? There’s something they aren’t telling us.”

“There’s probably a _lot_ they aren’t telling us,” Nile whispered. Because they were hundreds of years old. Maybe thousands in Andy’s case. She thought of the Field Museum again, the Egyptian Room this time. The mummies on display, one unwrapped to show a figure shriveled and blackened by time, and Nile wondered if Andy had been alive at the same time as that mummy had been.

Nile wondered if _she_ would live for thousands of years herself.

Hap shifted so he could tuck his face against her neck and started purring. She put her arms around him for reassurance; even if she _did_ live that long Hap would still be with her. _We come back together, or not at all,_ she reminded herself.


	2. Joe & Nusaybah

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ha, so this was originally going to be 4 chapters, each about the same length, all from a different PoV. But I keep getting lost in Joe's memories, so I'm splitting his chapter into at least two parts. After Joe will be Andy.

Usually when Booker was in the grip of melancholia it was on Joe or Nicky to reach out. Their overtures were almost always rebuffed several times before they were able to wear him down, and occasionally Andy would have to step in. Even so, Joe felt no suspicion at all that Booker made the first move this time. All he felt was happy relief when his phone rang and he saw one of the only three numbers programmed into his contacts. It only grew when Booker said he had a lead on a job.

“I already talked to the Boss,” Booker said, “We’re meeting in Marrakech tomorrow. Are you still in Damascus, or—“

“Fate smiles on you, my friend,” Joe said, unable to keep his own smile out of his voice, “We left almost a week ago, one too many ‘miraculous escapes.’ People were starting to notice. We’re at the Málaga safe house, trying to decide our next move. The States, maybe.”

“That’s perfect. Meetup with the Bosslady _and_ put off going to America another week at least.”

“It _would_ be a shame to break our streak,” Joe laughed. The US was not Joe’s favorite place; he and Nicky had informally sworn off the whole damn continent. Still, even if he wasn’t particularly fond of the place things weren’t looking good over there, and he’d seen the fall of enough great empires to know how things could ripple outward. “We’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Do you need to talk to Nicky first—“

“No,” Joe replied immediately. Nicky would be even more enthusiastic than he was. He went over a few more details with Booker then made his goodbyes.

Nicky was still on his run with Salacia. Nusaybah had gone along with them—Joe’s daemon took far less time to wake up in the morning than he did himself. Nicky had his cellphone, but Joe didn’t even think to call him. Instead closed his eyes and concentrated. _Come back home, I have good news._ He felt an answering twinge in that spot just below his breastbone, where his connection to Nusaybah hummed. The answer wasn’t in exact words, just a feeling that the message had been received and they were on their way. Joe smiled, and started packing.

******************************************

“I told you the baklava would work,” Nicky said when Joe told him about Booker’s call.

During their journey from Damascus they’d stopped for lunch near the Black Sea. Despite being run down and mostly deserted the restaurant had served the best baklava either one had eaten in years. Nicky bought an entire tin to take with them, even though neither one had much of a sweet tooth. Joe teasingly asked if Nicky thought they might run into Andy sipping sangria on the beach when they reached Málaga. Nicky’s cheeks turned pink, and he muttered something about it being more of a good luck charm. Like tossing a penny in a fountain and making a wish. Joe was so helplessly in love with him.

“A thousand apologies, my heart,” Joe said, “I ate last of it earlier.” Joe might not have much of a sweet tooth, but the baklava tin being visible while he had his morning coffee was a recipe for disaster.

Nicky’s expression barely changed; yet still managed to convey an unbelievable amount of smugness. Without a word he began rooting around in the small efficiency fridge, emerging with a tin identical to the one Joe had just thrown away. “I bought more while you were speaking to your new admirer.”

“And you hid this from me? _”_ Joe gasped theatrically, clutching his heart, “The betrayal!” He clucked his tongue, “Also shame on you, Nicolò. To makes such insinuations about Mrs Demir, a perfectly respectable widow. She simply wished to be polite to a traveler.”

“Yes, I’m sure you spoke to her with the utmost propriety,” Nicky replied, breaking into a full smile. The woman in question had been the owner’s mother-in-law, who claimed at ninety-three she had earned the right to speak to a handsome young stranger as long as she wished.

“To think I could have run off with her. Instead I live with a dishonest man who hides baklava from me.”

“It was for your own good. Think of what Andy would’ve done if we came empty handed and I told her it was because of you.”

“Point. You are forgiven, Nicolò.”

“If you two are _quite_ finished,” Nusaybah said archly from her perch on Salacia’s shoulders. The dog daemon was dragging the go-bag that contained the daemons' gear—body armor for Salacia, talon sheaths and netting for Nusaybah—into the room. “We should leave sooner rather than later. Get in the shower, Nico.”

“And you,” Salacia said sternly to Joe, dropping the bag at his feet, “Finish packing.”

*****************************************

They were able to pack everything (including the illicit baklava) and make it to Tarifa just in time to purchase the last tickets for the midday ferry, unfortunately crowded with tourists bound for day trips to Tangiers. Worst of those were the kind that flocked together in tight knots taking selfies without a care for anyone around them. A woman in hijab scowled as one such group nearly backed into her Awassi daemon. It was worse when the boarding call came in Spanish then Arabic before it got to English, as soon as the announcement crackled over the speakers people got up and wandered aimlessly whether they understood it or not.

Intent was what mattered most when it came to someone touching your daemon _._ Joe could pat Salacia on the head and all Nicky felt was warmth and love. However, Nicky could dig his fingers into Nusaybah’s feathers and Joe would feel a burst of pleasure so intense it was almost painful. On the opposite end of the spectrum, there was nothing “almost” painful when someone grabbed your daemon against your will. Unavoidable during some nastier fights, but Joe had literally _died_ in ways less agonizing. Accidental touches in a crowd had no intent, but were still very unpleasant. Like having a stranger throw up on your shoes. Nicky and Salacia made a beeline away from the crowds and to the top deck as soon as they boarded. Joe and Nusaybah stored their luggage, she was average sized for a daemon but even she tensed and flattened herself against Joe as they wove through the crowd queuing for the lockers.

Joe managed to get their luggage stored without incident; the people who intended to stay long enough in Morocco to necessitate packing luggage knew what they were doing. As he stopped to buy two cups of tea Joe reminded himself that this was still better than going through airport security. It was a stroke of good luck that Booker contacted them when and where he did. A week earlier or later would have made this meetup very difficult—the States or Syria would’ve required catching a flight at some point. Their less-than-legal means of travel usually took time to set up, and Nicky and Joe avoided flying commercial whenever possible. It was always a complicated dance to find a flight that still had large daemon seating for Salacia; and Joe could reliably count on getting “randomly selected” by security at least once. Besides, Nusaybah hated flying in manmade machines ever since biplanes became obsolete. Dealing with a crowded ferry and a long drive was vastly preferable to all that.

Nicky and Salacia were easy to spot when Joe reached the top deck. Nicky was leaning against the railing looking vaguely eastward. Salacia was beside him, standing up on her hind legs with her front paws braced against the railing, making them almost equal in height. When they were close enough it wouldn’t read as suspicious Nusaybah jumped from Joe’s shoulder and flew over to them, settling on the railing next to Salacia. Her tail wagged as she snuffled happily at Nusaybah’s feathers.

Nicky, for his part, greeted Joe with a fond twist of his lips and a soft, “ _Grazie,”_ when he saw the tea in his hands. For Joe, who had made a long study of his face, it was as effusive as a wagging tail.

“ _Prego,”_ Joe said, settling next to him. Beneath them, the engines ground to life and the ferry began to move. Salacia dropped down to all fours, while Nusaybah spread both wings straight out to her sides like a phoenix. Joe smiled; like any real Bateleur Nusaybah loved sunbathing in of itself. But Joe’s ridiculous daemon had angled herself to be sure her impressive plumage was easily viewed by Salacia and Nicky both. Luckily, their beloveds still found their occasional vanity charming after all this time.

“It’s a good sign, that Booker contacted us,” Nicky said after several minutes of comfortable silence spent sipping his tea and dutifully admiring Nusaybah’s feathers. He frowned, and turned eastward again, towards the Mediterranean side of the straight.

“Yeah, it is,” Joe replied. He started tracing aimless patterns over the back of Nicky’s hand and wrist. “I’ve been worried about him. More than usual, ever since—“ he trailed off. The beautiful blue in this spot where the Mediterranean met the Atlantic seemed sinister as the memories came to him.

Nicky made a thoughtful noise, “Yes. That job was bad for all of us, but I can’t regret it.”

“Neither can I,” Joe said immediately. They’d saved hundreds of men, women and children from drowning during their months aboard the _Night Flower_. The crew of mortals they’d hired--then bequeathed the ship to--were still saving more, long after they’d left. No fighting necessary. At least, no fighting external enemies.

It was easy, sometimes, to forget that their bodies healed faster than their hearts and spirits did. Easy for them to overlook that some wounds were still open and bleeding, having never healed at all. The Mediterranean job dredged many things to the surface, things none of them had figured out how to deal with even after centuries.

They kept on doing the work because they couldn’t _not_ do it, and none of them admitted just how badly the whole thing was affecting them until that last harrowing rescue. The weather turned bad, one of those unexpected Mediterranean storms that had been terrifying Joe since the Middle Ages. They stayed too long, unable to leave the small fleet of barely seaworthy inflatable rafts overloaded with desperate people. They were able to get most of the children on board at least. Then one of the boats capsized with Booker still on it.

Andy and Joe promptly lost their fucking minds. Oricos and Nusaybah took flight immediately, circling the waves and screaming for Booker and Noémie, heedless of the weather or the dozens of witnesses to their ability to separate. Nicky and Salacia, thanks be to God, were able to keep their heads. Nicky went to Andy and Salacia to Joe, frantically urging them to call Nusaybah and Oricos back. If they were lost in the storm Andy and Joe would die then revive in front of everyone.They wouldn’t get Booker back if they were locked away by people who knew what they were. Beyond that, they still needed to get these people safely to shore. Somehow, Joe was able to call Nusaybah back just in time, she was soaked through to the skin and could barely stay aloft. It took longer for Andy to coax Oricos back, and he didn’t land on the deck so much as collapse like he’d been shot from the sky. Joe and Andy were pretty much useless on the way back, Nicky was the one who comforted the surviving refugees and the devastated crew. Most of the latter were young even by mortal standards, recent university graduates desperate to save the world. Despite his carefully cultivated cynicism, perhaps _because_ of it, Booker was well-loved among them.

Then they reached port and the bastards from immigration tried to arrest them. Because saving men, women, and children from fucking _drowning_ was illegal now. His Nicolò, who until that moment had been a pillar of stoic strength, had reacted very poorly to the attempted arrest.

It was a miracle they were able to flee the area after that. Thanks be to God, it took less than thirty-six hours to find Book. Would’ve taken even less if his immediate response to washing up on shore was to go to their agreed rendezvous point instead of the nearest bar.

Andy and Oricos made it two years after that before announcing—for the first time in nearly a century—that they needed a break. Booker and Noémie followed them not long after; Joe thought the only reason it wasn’t sooner was because Booker lacked the energy to make the first move.

So it was _very_ good that Booker had contacted them, and even better that Andy had already agreed to come.

“The boss isn’t going to like it,” Nusaybah said, folding her wings against her sides, “Repeat job. Ex-CIA on top of that.”

“Sometimes we have to work with people we wouldn’t want to eat with. Stop fretting, habibti. Booker wouldn’t take the risk if it weren’t important,” Salacia replied.

“I suppose,” Nusaybah agreed reluctantly, “At any rate, it will be good to see them all. I had not expected to hear from either of them for another year at least.”

“Neither did we,” Salacia said, “Baklava summoning charm notwithstanding.”

Joe felt only a momentary pang of guilt for the happiness he felt; that he would see his brother and sister in arms sooner than he dared to hope. After all, it was only because something terrible had happened that they were brought together now. But terrible things were always happening, especially these days. They couldn’t fight every battle, all they could do was put as much good into the world as they were able. Easier to do with the four of them together.

Besides, he just _missed_ them. Nicky made up the base of the pyramid in Joe’s personal hierarchy of needs, but family made up most of the next layer.

“It’s what, six hours to Marrakech?” Nicky asked.

Joe deliberately turned around, elbows against the railing, so he was facing Tangier to the distant south and his husband to his immediate side. “Less than that if you are the one to drive,” Joe teased, “Either way we’ll get there early enough to do a quick recon. Find some proper pastilla from a street vendor after.”

Nicky studied his slowly, green eyes flicking down over his chest. Joe had dressed for comfort, a loose t-shirt that had probably began its life belonging to Nicky. Joe couldn’t be blamed for the way it pulled tight over his muscle when he leaned back against the railing, so Nicky had no reason to look at him like that. Or to say, “We could stay in. Wait until morning when Nusaybah can actually see something.”

“That is something to think about,” Joe said with a grin. They were in Spain only a few days but had already started to fall into a pleasant routine. First half of the day spent wandering the city, Joe with drawing pencils and Nicky with his latest reading. Retreating back to their apartment after lunch and whiling away the hottest hours of the day making love. Were it not for Booker’s call they would be enjoying a postcoital _siesta_ instead of dodging tourists on a crowded ferry.

“We should do both,” Salacia said, “It will be less crowded at night; if something is amiss I might actually be able to track it.”

“ _Tesoro,_ Booker said Copley wants to meet in Djema el-Fna,” Joe replied, “It will hardly be ‘less crowded’ at any time of the day.”

Salacia snorted, “Of course. I forgot; I think the last time we were there was after Operation Torch. Things were hardly normal then.”

Joe blinked, “No, that cannot be, we were just there during the protests, what, ten years ago—“

“We were in Casablanca and Rabat then,” Nusaybah said, “We never made it to Marrakech. Same as when we were there in the 50s.”

Joe realized they were correct. He shook his head; there were few places in the world they could visit that were not swathed in layers of memory that bled into one another. The Maghreb more than any other, Joe was familiar with most of the region even before his first death. Strange to try and remember traveling anywhere without Nicky beside and Salacia beside them. Joe’s first trip to Marrakech had been when he was still a boy young enough his Nusaybah was unsettled, the city itself only a few years older.

Nicky gave a thoughtful hum, “Perhaps we should visit regardless. Say hello, it has been a long time.”

“Let’s see how tired we are when we arrive,” Joe said, “We might have time after the job is done.”

“Andy and Booker will hopefully still be with us then,” Nicky replied.

“Well it’s settled, then,” Joe said with a wink, “Last chance for a quiet night in with just the two of us.” Not that Joe minded, he was still too happy to be seeing Andy and Booker.

When Joe looked back much later, it was the memory of that happy optimism that hurt him the most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now featuring illustrations of questionable quality!
> 
> [Nile and Hapi.PoV you are Andromache the Scythian and a certain daemon wants to bite you a second time.](https://imgur.com/U0Zc8QN)
> 
> [Nicky and Nusaybah. Having an eagle to act as a spotter is so incredibly convenient.](https://imgur.com/uGLBs0G)
> 
> [Joe and Salacia circa 1940. Killing fascists is their business and business is good.](https://imgur.com/1ArVUjV)


	3. Joe & Nusaybah (pt.2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so I definitely didn't plan on taking this long in between updates. Sometimes you rewatch a scene in the film and realize you made a small mistake that snowballed into a big one, so have to rewrite your next chapter almost completely from scratch.

Even with Nicky behind the wheel they reached Marrakech later than expected. By the time Salacia finished her sweep of the room Joe and Nicky were both too tired for anything beyond trading a few sleepy kisses before falling asleep. El Fenn hotel advertised itself as “boutique luxury”, and the beds at least lived up to the title. They were big enough that both daemons could fit in with them as well, Salacia curling up at their feet with Nusaybah tucked against her side.

Nusaybah was up and moving as soon as the first rays of sunshine filtered through the shutters, waking Joe up seconds later. While his daemon stretched her wings Joe remained stubbornly curled around Nicky’s bare back.

“We need to wake up,” Nicky said, shifting.Joe grumbled unhappily, tightening his arms to trap him in place.

“Half of me is already awake,” Joe muttered “There’s no reason all of me needs to be.”

“You know how hard it is for me to think when you’re still asleep,” Nusaybah said, exasperated. He heard her wings flap, felt as she landed on the pillow. “Come, Yusuf.” Her beak gently nibbled through his hair and beard, and when he didn’t respond she gave one of his curls a sharp tug.

“Why are you so awful,” Joe muttered, burying his face in the nape of Nicky’s neck. “Salacia, _mia amata_ , make her go away.”

Salacia huffed, amused. Joe felt the bed shift with her weight, then the horrible sensation of a cold, wet dog nose pressed into the small of his back. He yelped and shot upright, arms flailing and cursing. Nicky took the opportunity to escape while Joe lamented over his cruelty.

A few minutes later Nicky returned bearing a steaming mug of coffee. Joe forced himself upright and took it from him gratefully. “Perhaps I misjudged the depths of your heartlessness.” Nicky’s lips quirked, and he bent down to press a kiss above Joe’s eyebrow.

“I’m going to shower,” he said, “Once you’ve finished that you can have a turn.”

“Wait two minutes, I can join you.”

“No you can’t _,_ ” Nusaybah said firmly. She was perched in the window, looking out over the early morning city. Salacia was resting her head on the sill next to her, nostrils flaring. “Even harder to think than when you’re asleep. Finish your coffee, I need to concentrate.”

They’d chosen the hotel because it was less than six hundred meters from Djema el-Fna, and that room specifically for the excellent view it provided of the square. Perched in the window Nusaybah could look directly at the cafe where Andy and Booker were planning on meeting with Copley later. In the daylight and at that distance Nusaybah’s eyes were better than anything manmade for keeping watch.

She’d tried many times over the centuries to explain how exactly she saw the world. It wasn’t just that she could see four or five times the distance than Joe; it was color and motion as well. One of the reasons Joe preferred working in black and white was because she _always_ complained he’d gotten the colors wrong.

She was still keeping watch patiently when Booker called an hour later to inform them he'd made it through customs and was on his way.

“Has he spotted the boss?” Nicky asked after Joe hung up.

“He didn’t say,” Joe replied, “I think they were getting in around the same time, though, I…”

Before Joe could finish speaking Nusaybah let out a delighted cry, “They’re here!” She was looking at the sky instead of the square, and without another word leapt from the windowsill into the air. She’d flown out of sight in minutes, the white feathers of her underwings blending in with the sky.

Joe didn’t have to wait long, he felt an explosion of warmth and giddy joy rippling through him almost immediately, like a flood of bubbles in a shaken bottle of champagne. It was followed by excited swooping in the pit of his stomach, like how he felt jumping out of airplanes or hurdling down a ski slope. Somewhere high above the city Joe knew she was greeting Oricos. It was always an impressive sight—both birds flying around each other in loops, occasionally clasping each other’s talons and spiraling through the air together.

Salacia raced to the door and started dancing in anticipation, ears pricked. It wasn’t long before they heard a familiar knock. Joe graciously allowed Nicky to answer in deference to the fact that part of him had already greeted Andy’s other half.

Neither Nicky nor Andy said a word when he opened the door, but Joe saw the look of content on her face as she studied him before stepping into his arms. Booker lurked awkwardly behind them; he disliked physical displays of affection.

When it was Joe’s turn for a hug he picked her off her feet and spun her around, growling happily at the sound of her laughter.

“You look good,” he said as he released her. She did; it wasn’t just empty words.Joe had painted her hundreds of times over the centuries, and still found new things to appreciate about her face. Since he’d seen her she’d cut her hair flatteringly short, in a way that showed off her impressive bone structure and sloping shoulders. There was also something about her expression, a warmth and genuineness to her smile that had been missing when he saw her last.

“You look ok,” she teased.

“Thank you, thank you,” he said, smiling. Before he could regale her with stories of the very lovely vacation he’d been enjoying he heard a soft, pained whine. When he looked at Salacia he saw she was nosing Booker’s pack, her ears flat and tail still.

“Booker, where is Noémie?” she asked.

“I sent her ahead, so she could get a look of how things are on the ground,” Booker said.

Joe went still and shared an anxious glance with Nicky. For the first time since Booker called yesterday morning Joe felt his happy optimism waver. Even during Booker’s worst battles with melancholia—when Noémie could barely stand to be in the same room—things were never so bad she avoided the rest of them. She was actually very open and affectionate in ways that Booker rarely allowed himself to be. After a year she should be climbing all over Salacia and impatiently telling Joe to call Nusaybah back.

Booker gave a faint smile and raised his eyebrows. Joe knew he had an expressive face, that he wore his thoughts plainly and openly unless he made an effort. “Don’t worry, she’s anxious to see everyone. Just nervous,” he tilted his head significantly toward Andy, “I’ll tell you all about it once we’re settled in.”

Right. The job that Andy wouldn’t like, because it was a repeat, and because it involved CIA. It made sense that Noémie was anxious, wanted to see for herself that things were kosher. Worry still gnawed at his heart as he remembered that Noémie almost didn’t say goodbye when Booker left last year. She wouldn’t have if Salacia hadn’t tracked her down by scent first.

_I said I know she and Booker don’t like to be together when he’s this way,_ Salacia told them later, _but neither of them should be alone right now. If they won’t let us help to please help each other._

Joe shared another look with Nicky, who gave a barely perceptible shake of his head. _Later._ There was catching up to do, and a job. A chance to put some good in the world. Much like Andy, the best way to shake Booker out of his melancholia was to make him feel useful.

Salacia still looked forlorn, but was soon provided a distraction in the form of Oricos and Nusaybah’s return. Joe’s daemon flew in gracefully, but Oricos’ wingspan was too big for the hotel window. He was forced to awkwardly clutch at the sill until Andy came to help. At the sight of him Salacia bowed down in a “play” stance, tail wagging. Oricos mock hissed, spreading his wings intimidatingly. Salacia jumped back and ran to the other side of the room, tongue out and grinning a doggie grin. Oricos pretended to chase after her, hopping awkwardly over the floor. In flight Oricos, like Nusaybah, was majestic and fearsome. On the ground, however, he was so awkward it was objectively hilarious. Particularly when trying to play wrestle with Salacia. It ended with the dog daemon on her back wiggling happily while Oricos leaned down to preen her fur.

They all laughed at the display, Andy hardest of all. _Maybe I’m wrong,_ Joe thought, turning his attention back to Booker. He seemed cheerful as he ever was, and grew even more so when Nicky presented Andy with the gift of his secret baklava.

“Five hundred, Booker,” Nicky said, smirking a little.

“I’ll take that,” Booker replied, digging for his wallet.

“What?” Andy said, “No!”

“Are you two still playing this ridiculous game?” Oricos asked, trying to sound exasperated instead of fond.

“They are,” Salacia said, “I keep trying to tell him that if he wants to give Booker his money there are easier ways.”

“Don’t listen to her, Nico,” Nusaybah said, “All in!”

Joe grinned in anticipation. Long ago Andytold them she could tell where any of her favorite sweets had been baked by taste alone, down to the specific village in some cases. Nicky and Booker had a longstanding bet as to whether or not she was bullshitting, one Nicky kept losing.

This time was no different, after only one bite Andy began rattling off the ingredients. After two had narrowed the location down to the Black Sea. She tilted her head back, chewing with a pleasure that was obscene. When she raised her head she had a mischievous grin that made her seem young, almost girlish, “Eastern Turkey.”

There was an eruption of laughter from humans and daemons alike. “Grazie mille, Nico,” Booker crowed, snatching up Nicky’s money. He seemed as cheerful as he ever was, eyes sparkling with mirth and laughing loudest of them all. Maybe Noémie _was_ just nervous rather than avoiding Book and the rest of them by extension.

He pushed his worry for Booker on a mental back burner so he could spare some worry for Andy. “Admit it, Boss,” Joe said, “You missed us.”

“We did,” Andy replied, giving him a sweet smile. Across the room Oricos had gone back to preening Salacia’s fur, while Nusaybah worked through his feathers in turn.

“It’s a job, guys,” Booker said, interrupting the warm atmosphere in the room.

Andy, predictably, did _not_ like the idea of a repeat job. She brushed aside Nicky telling her they could do some good.

“Have you been watching the news lately?” Andy said, not meeting Nicky’s eyes. Oricos stopped preening Salacia and returned to Andy’s side, resting his head against her knee. “Some good means nothing.”

“You don’t believe that,” Salacia said before Joe or Nicky could.

“We’re not helping,” Oricos, “Maybe we never did.”

“I know you needed a break, Boss,” Joe said gently. “But it’s been over a year.”

“This is what we do, Andy,” Nicky said.

She got to her feet and paced restlessly over to the window. Oricos flapped his wings and gave an undignified hop so he could perch closer to her. They shared a long look, as though they were alone in the room. Eventually he bobbed his head down once in an avian approximation of a nod. Andy sighed, “I’ll hear him out.”

*******************************************

Nicky and Nusaybah kept watch while Booker, Andy, and Oricos met Copley. Nicky through the scope of his rifle, Nusaybah perched on his shoulder acting as spotter. Meanwhile Joe and Salacia monitored sound via the wire Booker wore. Listened in as Copley told Andy about the girls kidnapped in South Sudan and how no one seemed to give a shit. Youngest eight, the oldest thirteen.

“Oh, there is Noémie,” Nusaybah said wistfully at one point.

“How does she look?” Salacia asked.

“Well enough for the two seconds she showed her face,” Nusaybah answered, “She’s hiding in Booker’s messenger bag. Pretending to be afraid of Copley’s daemon.”

“She’s a constrictor of some kind, right?” Joe asked. He’d met Copley briefly after the job in Surabaya a decade ago, remembered the beautiful pattern of his daemon’s scales as she coiled around his shoulders.

“Royal python,” Nusaybah said absently.

Right. A good daemon for a spook; many people were afraid of snakes. Many more people, even if they weren’t afraid, thought snakes were expressionless and unreadable. They weren’t; you just had to know what to look for. Joe, Nicky, and _especially_ Andy did. If Copley were bullshitting them Andy would spot it.

Andy agreed to the job in the end, of course. Joe had never seriously doubted that she would.

*******************************************

Joe didn’t see Noémie for longer than a few seconds until they reached South Sudan.

“ _Salut, ma chatounette,”_ Nusaybah said cheerfully when Noémie’s pointed snout poked out of Booker’s bag.

The genet yawned, her pink tongue curling. “You are too cheerful for a day this bright,” Noémie muttered.

“It is good to see you,” Salacia said, trotting forward to touch noses. She had to get very close to Booker to do this, trusting the other man to hold still and not accidentally brush against her. “We missed you. Did Booker tell you why he’s five hundred euros richer?”

“He did, I am very sorry I didn’t get the chance to watch Nicky lose money,” Noémie said, yawning again.

“I’m sure another opportunity will present itself before too long,” Oricos said dryly, “Andromache. We should be on our way. Nusaybah?”

“I will need another moment,” she replied, “Someone is taking his time with my gear.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” Joe muttered, strapping on her talon sheaths, “Don’t forget you’re wearing these and try to land on my shoulder.” Even the leather harness he wore didn’t provide enough protection from the sharp little knives she wore above her natural claws.

“ _One_ time, over seven hundred years ago,” she muttered. “And it hurt me as much as it hurt you.”

Joe finished, gave her beak a quick kiss, and stood back as she and Oricos took flight.

Oricos flew in ever widening circles, wings beating rapidly as he climbed higher and higher. Nusaybah flew in smaller loops, wings tilting back and forth in a Bateleur’s distinct flight. Eventually she leveled out and headed north, toward the militia’s outpost. Oricos was still climbing, he could fly more than twice as high as Nusaybah. Eventually he turned north as well.

Joe stretched and let out a contented sigh. There was a strange tension that came with having a bird daemon. As much as Joe loved her and wanted her close, he always felt a little claustrophobic when she was grounded for extended periods of time. A quick flight over a crowded city square just wasn’t enough. Part of her was always longing to be in the sky, even before they separated a millennia ago. It was good Salacia hadn’t settled as a bird as well, Joe might never see Nusaybah otherwise.

After Oricos and Nusaybah left the rest of them began the long hike on foot. Noémie retreated back into Booker’s pack, her tail hanging out like a banner. Genets were nocturnal; the harsh sunlight would give her a headache she’d pass along to Booker. Salacia didn’t have the same problem—they actually made sun goggles for normal dogs that worked just as well for daemons. They had the added bonus of being stupidly cute on top of useful.

Midway through the journey Nusaybah returned. “We only spotted ten militiamen,” Nusaybah informed them, “Oricos is keeping watch, but no one is coming for as far as we can see.”

“What about the girls?” Nicky asked.

“If they’re letting them out at all we did not see it,” Nusaybah said.

“Daemons?” Andy asked.

“None we can’t handle,” Nusaybah said, a hint of bloodthirsty eagerness in her voice.

“ _Stai attento_ ,” Salacia said as Nusaybah took flight once more.

********

At first things went things went according to plan beautifully.

It took the better part of the day to reacha good concealed position near the outpost where they could wait for dark. When the time came to move Oricos and Nusaybah remained behind. Both of them had poor night vision—good enough to spot any unexpected traffic through the outpost, but inside would be more of a liability. 

Nicky took out the pair sentries with his rifle prior to their approach. One shot, two kills. Once the sentries were taken care of Noémie went ahead of them across the no man’s land surrounding the outpost. She ran lightly over the ground, head low as she searched for IEDs and other booby traps. Salacia followed a few paces behind, doing a wider sweep for anything Noémie might have missed. She couldn’t see as well at night as the genet, but her nose made up for it.

They took out four more guards on their way in. Two died by Joe’s sword, their daemons vanishing before they could make a sound. Quick, efficient. 

They passed a pile of discarded shoes outside of the entrance to the bunker where Copley's intel said they were keeping the girls. Salacia’s lips curled back in a snarl after she sniffed them.

Booker blew out the door with a short, controlled blast from his C4. No alarm was raised; the few remaining militiamen were asleep in bunkers on the opposite end of the compound.

When the dust cleared they filed down the steps single file, guns raised. It was good Andy and Joe had left their daemons behind; even Nusaybah couldn’t have spread her wings down here, never mind Oricos. The actual bunker itself was a different story. The stairs opened up into a large, open room. It was a featureless box, floors so clean they were gleaming.

No girls. No nothing. Just empty space.

“What the—“ Andy hissed.

“Are we too late?” Nicky asked.

“ _Something’s wrong—_ “ Salacia said, low and urgent, “Nico, we’re not—“

That was when the flood lights came on, blinding them.

Andy managed to get out an annoyed, “Mother _fuck—“_ before they were torn to shreds by gunfire.

***********************************

_Yusuf. Yusuf get up._

Nusaybah’s voice, he couldn’t tell if it was in his head or she’d spoken out loud. As always, Joe was aware of her before anything else. Before the air in his lungs, before conscious thought, even before the pain as his body knit itself together. He could feel the distinctly unpleasant sensation of bits of metal working their way out of his body, could feel his shattered collar bone shifting back into place beneath his skin.

He let out a ragged gasp. He could smell gunpowder and blood, his own and his family’s.

_Ambush,_ he thought.

His vision swam, then came into focus. The first thing he saw was Nusaybah’s eyes. His beautiful daemon was crumpled on the floor next to where Joe had fallen.

_Your gun is still in your hand._ Nusaybah again, definitely in his head. Her mouth was opening and closing without making a sound, her feathers a rumpled mess. It was always extra awful to come back after they died apart from the other.

Joe’s fingers curled around the grip of his gun. He got another thought from Nusaybah that tangled in with his own. _Nicky Salacia Nicky Nico SalaciaSALACIA GET UP YUSUF WHERE ARE THEY._

Joe was vaguely aware of Booker and Andy stirring on either side of him. Any relief he felt that his brother and sister in arms were alive was drowned in frantic terror for several seconds. By some cruel twist of fate Joe had died facing away from Nicky, with Andy in between them. Joe pushed himself up and looked wildly to where he last remembered seeing him. Nicky was already moving, one arm around Salacia’s neck to help boost himself up. Their eyes met, and Nicky’s lip curled with a fury that matched Joe’s own.

_Alhamdulillah,_ Joe thought, then turned his attention to their murderers. There were twenty of them at least; masked and dressed in black. The largest of their daemons was a lean gray wolf, her eyes gleaming yellow in the darkness.

_“Oh my God,”_ one of the soldiers said in English. _American,_ Joe thought, _and that gear more than this ragtag group of militia could afford._ Later. He could think about what that meant later.

More shouts as the four of them raised themselves into a crouch. Nusaybah spread her wings beside him. Oricos was doing the same from his position at Andy’s side. Salacia was already on her feet, legs stiff and head low, eyes locked on the wolf daemon.

“ _Reload! Reload!”_ a voice shouted.

The four humans and their daemons sprang forward as one.

After that it was a blur, Joe’s body and muscle memory taking over. Events came in flashes, too fast for him to process in the moment. He crossed in front of Andy to get to Nicky, arriving just in time to knock the gun of one guard aside before he could fire on Salacia. Nicky shot the guard’s ferret daemon off his shoulder, and Joe shot the guard in the face for good measure.

Salacia charged at the wolf daemon while Nusaybah flew at her human’s face, talons extended. Joe felt the sickening sensation of someone _touching_ his daemon, making him stumble. Mercifully it didn’t last long; the wolf whirled instinctively toward her human, leaving her neck exposed. Salacia lunged forward, she outweighed the wolf by a good thirty pounds. She knocked the wolf off her feet immediately. She still in too much pain from Nusaybah’s attack on her human to defend herself when Salacia’s jaws closed around the wolf’s throat. There was a gout of blood and a flash of gold as the wolf vanished into Dust. Nusaybah sprang free of the human guard as he fell to the ground already dead.

Joe abandoned his gun for his scimitar at that point, vaguely aware of Nicky doing the same with his longsword. Lunge. Parry.

Andy was carving her way through men and daemons alike with her axe. Oricos, wings spread like an avenging angel, snatched a shrieking colobus daemon of her human’s shoulder, and tossed it toward Salacia. The dog daemon snatched her out of the air, jaws closing in a punishing grip and shaking the screaming daemon until she exploded into Dust.

A rattlesnake daemon lunged at Noémie, fangs extended, only for Nusaybah to land in between them. The snake got a mouthful of feathers, fangs not even reaching Nusaybah’s skin. Booker shooting her human before she could try again.

It ended all at once. The floor was a mess of blood, bodies, and bullets. No daemons but their own were standing.

Nusaybah alighted on Joe’s shoulder as he gasped for air, her feathers still fluffed out and face dark. Joe’s throat burned, for a second he thought he was going to throw up.

“Everyone still with me?” Andy asked, voice even.

“Yeah,” Booker gasped.

“Si, tutto bene,” Nicky said in a shaky voice. Salacia was leaning against him and trembling, covered in still healing healing cuts. In a fight Salacia seemed oblivious to pain—Nicky almost never reacted when she was injured. Nine hundred years ago Joe saw that as a sign of their inhuman nature. He’d learned since then.

The burning in Joe’s throat increased, resolving into a bullet that had only just then worked its way up to his mouth from somewhere in his guts.

“Joe?” Andy asked.

Joe spat out the bullet before answering. It hit the floor with a faint clatter, “Very pissed off.”

“So where are the girls?” Nicky asked.

“There never were any girls,” Oricos said. He was crouched at Andy’s feet, eyes glued to the far wall. His feathers were standing on end, his massive wings partly open in readiness.

Joe followed his gaze and saw the small, glowing red light. A camera.

“We’ve been set up,” Andy growled, striding across the room with her axe raised.

*******************************************

“One has to admire Mr. Copley’s attention to detail,” Joe said as they buried their torn and bloody gear hours later and miles away from the outpost. “The shoes were particularly grotesque touch.”

“He even got the scent right,” Salacia growled, “I could _smell_ over a dozen different girls, all the correct ages, all stinking of fear.”

“I knew this would happen,” Andy said darkly. They were some of the only words she’d spoken since leaving the outpost. Oricos was already long gone; he left without a word while the rest of them did a quick search for any more nasty surprises. Joe didn’t ask whether it was to scout ahead or simply to think. He guessed the latter; it was still too dark for him to see very well.

“We did it right, Andy,” Nicky said, “For the right reasons.”

“And what did it get us, Nicky?” she shot back. Her eyes were anguished, the way they’d been on _The Night Flower_ immediately after they lost Booker. “ _Nothing._ We’ve done _nothing._ The world isn’t getting any better. It’s getting worse.”

“I checked him out completely,” Booker said, eyes on the dirt. Noémie had vanished again; Joe couldn’t see the outline of her shape in Booker’s bag. “Everything seemed legit. I’m sorry, guys.”

“It’s not your fault,” Salacia said, placing a paw just over his boot, not quite touching, but close enough. Booker’s jaw worked and he pulled away. Salacia’s ears drooped in response.

“They know who we are,” Andy muttered, “They know _what_ we are. We have to find Copley. We have to tie this thing off.”

“And then what?” Booker asked.

“And then _nothing._ The world can burn for all I care. I’m done.” She got to her feet and stalked away.

“Andromache—“ Salacia said with a soft whine, starting to go after her. Nusaybah jumped from Joe’s shoulder onto her back before she could.

“Leave it, _tesoro,_ ” she said, “It’s not the time.”

Joe was exhausted—healing from extensive injuries was draining even when he _hadn’t_ been awake for over twenty-four hours. Or witnessed his family dying. It never got any easier. Booker had _just_ drowned in the Mediterranean, although at least then Joe hadn’t seen it happen. Hadn’t needed to stare at Book’s lifeless body wondering if this was it.

The last time he’d seen Nicky die was over a decade before Booker drowned, but the memory of it was even rawer.

_Fuck._

This was meant to be a simple job, the morality clear and the cause just. Something to help Andy and Booker back to their feet, give them hope. Joe tried not let bitterness overwhelm him. Although Joe supposed bitterness was better than fear.

_They know who we are. They know_ what _we are._

It had been five hundred years since Joe had felt fear this great.

*******************************************

They were able to scramble on board a freight train after nearly an entire day walking over the tracks. They all collapsed almost as soon as Andy pulled the door closed. Booker folded himself into the corner against a stack of empty paletts. Noémie appeared for a flash, crawling out of Booker’s bag before climbing up the pallets and vanishing once more. Nicky dropped down to the floor, curling up on his side with his pack as a pillow. Joe wound himself around his back, slinging an arm over his chest. Salacia settled down against Joe’s legs, curling into a ball, while Nusaybah made a nest in the circle of her body.

_From a king sized bed in a ‘boutique luxury’ hotel to the dirty floor of a boxcar._

Joe wrapped his hand loosely around Nicky’s wrist, savoring the feel of his warm skin and gradually slowing pulse. He reminded himself things could be much, _much_ worse. All Joe needed in the world was there in that one boxcar. He could endure anything else; and drifted off to sleep on that comforting thought.

Joe had no idea how long he slept before the dreams came.

_A helmet abandoned and splattered with blood._

_Smiling children. An older woman in hijab, mongoose daemon crouched on her shoulder._

_A set of dog tags with the United States Marine Corps seal._

_A dying woman, eyes wide with fear. Young, so young. Her bloody fingers clutching at the sandy fur of her daemon._

_The sharpness of the knife as it cut into her throat._

They jerked awake as one, humans and daemons alike.

“What the…” Andy gasped, clutching her hair. Booker was already opening his flask and taking a long pull from it.

Joe scrambled for his pack and the small sketchbook he carried with him everywhere, too stunned to speak, knowing he needed to get her face down.

“No, not another one, not another one, not now,” Andy whispered frantically.

Joe barely heard her. He’d found his sketchbook and flipped to the first available blank page. He started drawing, just the general shape of her face and the large, young eyes.

“It was a woman,” Nicky said unnecessarily, “A black woman. Young.”

“I saw an older woman in hijab,” Joe said, scribbling frantically, trying to remember any other clues. It had taken them so long to find Booker, time they didn’t have. _They know who we are, and they know what we are._

_“_ What did you see?” he asked Booker.

“I saw part of a name tag—“

“Free!” Joe interrupted, “Free something…”

“Dirt floor, clay walls,” Nicky added.

“A medevac,” Booker rasped, rubbing his neck, “I felt her die.”

“Her daemon was…some type of cat,” Salacia said, “Nusaybah, I can’t remember what they’re called, desert lynxes—“

“A caracal,” Nusaybah said. Salacia gave her a quick lick in gratitude.

“He was so beautiful,” Noémie’s voice drifted down softly. Joe looked up to see her perched on top of the pallets over Booker’s head, long tail fluffed out. He went back to his drawing. The shape of her chin, the curve of her lips. He listened to the conversation around with half an ear.”

“Did you see anything else?” Nusaybah asked her, “Any other daemons, something that would tell us where—“

“She’s a marine,” Andy interrupted with an authoritative voice, “Combat. Or near combat duty. Afghanistan. It’s been over two hundred years. Why now?”

“Everything happens for a reason, boss,” Nicky said. Joe didn’t need to look up to know what kind of face Andy made at that.

“We have to find her,” Joe said. _They know who we are. They know_ what _we are._

“N _ow,”_ Nusaybah agreed, every single feather standing straight up. She was looking at the door to the boxcar, and to Joe it felt like she was ready to take flight then and there.

“No, we need to find Copley,” Booker said.

“So we just leave her out in the open? Exposed?” Nusaybah asked, glaring up at Noémie. She was still perched above them, staring down at the top of Booker’s head with an unreadable expression. She didn’t say anything.

“ _We’re_ the ones who are exposed,” Booker argued.

“Not like her,” Nicky said, then repeated himself when Booker tried to protes.

“You can’t tell me you don’t remember what it was like,” Salacia said, “They’re alone.”

“Whoever they are are, they’re confused and they’re _scared._ And yes, more alone than they’ve ever been in their entire life. They _need_ us.”

Joe was so fucking in love with him.

Booker didn’t have an answer to that. Joe went back to his sketch, adding in what details he could remember. He didn’t need to tell any of them that he and Nicky would go look for her alone if necessary. They made almost all their decisions as a group, particularly decisions that risked exposing them to outsiders. But some things needed to be done, group consensus or not.

Andy kicked one leg out in frustration. _“Fuck.”_ She got to her feet, “I’ll handle the retrieval.” When Booker protested she said, “If we’re dreaming about her she’s dreaming about _us._ ” Trying to make it seem strictly pragmatic.

“What about us?” Booker asked.

“Get to Paris,” Andy said, “I’ll meet you at the Charlie safe house.”She looked up, as though she could see through the roof of the boxcar to wherever her daemon currently was, “Oricos will stay with you, if anything happens to me you’ll know as soon as it does.”

Joe froze, his attention knocked away from his sketch. He felt Nicky tense beside him. “Are you sure?” While Oricos and Andy seemed to prefer being separate the majority of the time, it wasn’t the same as it was with Booker and Noémie, who found the other’s presence unbearable from time to time. Like Nusaybah, part of him was only completely at ease when he was in the air. They still missed each other. Still liked to sleep next to each other, to dream as one. Still liked to be only a short flight away if one needed the other.

_Afghanistan to Paris,_ Joe thought. The farthest apart Joe could remember Andy going from Oricos was England to Florence five hundred years ago. A fraction of the distance.

“I’m sure,” she said, reaching her hand out toward Joe’s sketchbook. He tore out the page and handed it to her. Andy studied it, the muscles of her throat working. “Jesus. She’s just a baby.” She shook her head, and headed for the door of the boxcar. She opened it just wide enough to jump out, Joe saw her briefly silhouetted in the entrance. Then she was gone.

None of the three men or their daemons said anything. Booker settled back against the pallets, brow furrowed. 

Joe turned to Nicky. He was staring at his hands, twisting them together in agitation. He hadn’t protested when Andy said she was going after the new one, or when she said she was going completely alone.

Joe covered Nicky’s hands with his own, stilling them. He understood how his love was feeling, the things he was thinking. Of what could happen when they were forced to split up.

Nicky sighed, and allowed Joe to put an arm around him and pull him close. Salacia laid her head in Joe’s lap, Nicky reached out to rest one hand against her head. Nusaybah flapped her wings, hopping onto Joe’s shoulder, close enough for her to lean over and preen Nicky’s hair.

Joe glanced over to Booker. The other man was curled in on himself, eyes on the open door where Andy had vanished. Joe looked up, Noémie had slipped away again.

Joe’s heart ached. If he thought Booker would have accepted it he would have disentangled from Nicky long enough to hug him. He wished Noémie was not being so distant. She normally allowed herself to be comforted, she should be curled up against Salacia’s bulk. Whatever was wrong between her and Booker was far worse than Joe had worried when he first saw Book in Marrakech. That was _before_ they almost got captured because Booker trusted the wrong person.

Joe sighed. He was still exhausted, but didn’t think he’d be able to properly sleep until all the things he cared about were within easy reach once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The way Oricos and Nusaybah greet each other is similar [courtship flights](https://youtu.be/CQ1VQ-4LYAI) of real birds of prey, but obviously is completely platonic in this instance.
> 
> I don't have any firm headcanons for the other daemons, but I feel it's important to know I've been imagining Tom Hardy's voice for Oricos.

**Author's Note:**

> Daemon cheat sheet:
> 
> Nile: Hapi, a [caracal.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Caracal)
> 
> Andy: Oricos, a [lammergeier or bearded vulture](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bearded_vulture). 
> 
> Joe: Nusaybah, a [Bateleur eagle](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bateleur). 
> 
> Nicky: Salacia, an [Alaunt dog](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alaunt).
> 
> Booker: Noémie, a [common genet.](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Common_genet)


End file.
